


Isaac Reminisces (It Doesn't Go Well)

by IntrospectiveInquisitor



Category: Dead Space
Genre: Gen, Internal Monologue, Isaac needs hugs, Necromorphs are very mean and must be punished, Titan Station is a horrible vacation spot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrospectiveInquisitor/pseuds/IntrospectiveInquisitor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aboard a Necromorph infested Titan Station, Isaac Clarke finds time between fighting for his life against alien horrors and slowly losing himself to Marker induced insanity to reflect on how absolutely terrible his life has become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isaac Reminisces (It Doesn't Go Well)

He can always feel them. Rips and punctures and tears and burns. They'd left him ravaged, more scar tissue than man despite the miraculous healing efforts of the gel his suit slathered every wound in, flesh pulling back together as nanoweave fibers knitted the holes torn between armor plating. Every time he retired a suit it looked on its last legs, burnt and warped and barely functioning beyond the basics. Nothing filled him with quite as much relief as finding the schematic for a new suit, guarded by a covered corpse, or hoarded jealously by the horrors that wished him ripped in two. Or four. Or blasted into a hundred chunks, even.

Those few seconds inside a claustrophobic tube where tiny mechanical arms pieced new armor onto him like a puzzle gave way to the greatest feeling of safety he'd felt in a very long time. Months, maybe. Years, decades? Time flowed like rotten blood, thick and sticky. Everything was a haze in comparison to the crystal focus of his plasma cutter and the terrors it was pointed at. He was fairly certain he knew more about the anatomy of these otherworldly abominations than he did his own, at this point. Of course, they shared a few similarities. He could sometimes make out the shapes of what they used to be, before the call of the Marker made them into something else. Though human they once had been, they were now shards of bone and tendrils of meat and repurposed limbs. Nightmares walking, he liked to call them, though the 'official' designation was Necromorph. Fittingly disturbing, he thought. A moniker given by a man that saw them for what they really were; monsters, through and through. They deserved nothing more than total eradication. 

Others, however, thought differently. The thought of them made Isaac's blood boil, and his fingers twitch against the trigger of his cutter. If not for Unitology, none of this would ever have happened. The horror of the Necromorphs and the Markers would have died with Aegis VII and the Ishimura. At least, that's what he liked to believe. The truth was that humanity's greed would have likely led to them stumbling upon the Markers at some point or another, but it was easier to compartmentalize his fury and helplessness and blame a single entity. But maybe... maybe the alternative would have spared himself and Nicole, at the very least. The thought made his empty gut churn; he'd never wish his situation on anyone else, but he desperately wanted it to be anybody but him. He wanted to feel safe again, to know he had a future and a home instead of feeling constant creeping paranoia and being forced to sleep in storage closets that were free of vents. 

The Ishimura incident had only taken twelve hours, but it felt like months. Months of skulking in the dark by himself, hands trembling and heart pounding like a drum as he twitched at every sound and shadow. The thought of it still rattled him, made his chest buzz like it was filled with a swarm of locusts.He'd take comfort in his sanity, if only it were still there. He felt normal, the constant bone rattling terror notwithstanding, but he'd been seeing things. It'd started back on the Ishimura; apparitions of his love, alive and well and waiting for him. Something to do with the Marker signal, Daina said. It'd ingrained itself in his very brainwaves, and was doing its damnedest to drive him off the edge. Now he was haunted by visions of his beloved, made nothing more than the corpse puppet of the Markers. 

Also, she was trying to kill him? He was too busy fighting for his life to really sit down and think about what was going on (this exact moment notwithstanding), but it was certainly the worst thing ever. His short musings were interrupted by Daina connecting to his suit, her concerned face appearing in all its grainy blue glory as she badgered him to get moving, don't you understand that you don't have time to dawdle, Isaac? His helmet snapped back into place with a series of quiet clicks, once again encasing him in an impassive glowing visage. He slid a fresh cell into his plasma cutter, and hacked open the door of the storage room he'd locked himself inside of. He cracked his knuckles and rolled his shoulders, chest swelling with a fragile confidence. Four minutes later, the sound of panicked screams echoed through one of the many halls of Titan Station.


End file.
